PEEL THE MASK AWAY / goldie's head

[beck.]

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    [ continuation of this thread ]

    The stench of rot and a sinking feeling in his gut accompanied him back to the swamp. Pig's blood soaked the front of his apparition, staining his front legs up to his elbows with the evidence of his night's activities -- and yet, said night remained a blur to him. He could faintly remember the other's word of a gathering, but what for? How did he end up trudging through a jungle? What had he done? What you had to do. A painful buzz ached in his mind, dulling his senses as he blankly stared at someone else's paws dragging him to someone else's home. His home. No, he didn't have a home, he never had a home in five hundred years. With momentary clarity, Beck twisted his head to peer over his shoulder, eyes failing to recognize the looming shape of Tanglewood's library behind him. The sky, however, was flooded with the familiar light of breaking morning. The poltergeist turned, not pausing to acknowledge the slight bump of something against a blood-crusted shoulder with the jerky movement. His jaws were locked around the burnt and torn scruff of his newest trophy, in all its decomposed glory. The severed head was scarcely recognizable upon first glance. Closer inspection would reveal its identity as the prior body once belonging to their ally's captain herself. Naturally, Beck took his old friend's head to reside with him until time transformed it to mere dust. Now, she had to stay.

    But first, he needed to return to safety. The simple urge comprised the only thought remaining in his trance-like state, driving his legs to stiffly walk forward on an instinctive path. A path traversing right through the town square. Yet the little feline slipped into catatonia, thoughts erased by the entity hissing in his ear to do this, do that. He numbly limped forward, blind to the stirring world around him even as his lifeless eyes fixated on nothing ahead. Goldenluxury's head swung from his teeth plainly for all to see; Beck may have been present on the outskirts of the town square, but in truth, he was gone.

[bubblegum]

quiet track

[Crow Roux]

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Whatever task Crow was focused on moments before would be lost forever as his priorities changed to the messy figure plodding the town, his eyes squinting to discern Beck and a mysterious cargo swaying from his jaw with each unsteady step. Despite the considerable distance between them, the stench hit his flared nostrils like an oncoming train, and he felt his throat tighten as he stifled a heave. What was that, and what was he doing with it—those were two thoughts that first crossed his mind as he slunk forward with caution to investigate. Was Beck hostile?

No, he was not. That was proven as Crow got closer and no reaction was received from the smaller feline despite his attempts at getting his attention by making his presence known by careless movement and by calling the cat's name in different tones of voice. With frustration, he placed himself in Beck's path, recoiling slightly as the object the poltergeist carried, now identified as a head, bumped into his flank. "B-Beck," he now whispered, deciding that calling out to the kid was not making any progress. "A-answer me. What are you doing? Whose head is that?"

[trojan g.]

[align=center][div style="width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman; font-size: 12px;"]Moth, at this point in time, was too far away from Beck and Crow to determine the smell of the thing that the ghost boy carried in his maw, though upon seeing something that looked different than the childish female was used to, she couldn't help but let a flash of excitement wash through her, suddenly stopping her hunt for various things around the camp to lurch forward on her journey to the two that were now there on the edges of the town square. She would let her pace quicken slightly until a stench hit her nose, and, just as quickly as she had forgotten her task that she was in the middle of before, she regret coming over to investigate.

Deciding to keep the questions of 'what is that it looks weird' the female would cast a glance at the charred and decomposed head hanging from Beck's jaws, fear washing over her at the site. Why was he carrying this? Why wasn't he worried about it? Did he do it? Swallowing the thoughts down - he was a group mate, he wouldn't do that kind of thing, right? - she took a small step back to try and get the stench out of her nostrils, before looking over to Crow, watching as he tried to talk to Beck, see what was going on, the confirmation that it was a head reaching her ears.

Frustrated tears began to form in the corners of the fox's eyes as she tried to figure out what to do, to no avail, and Moth would look behind her for a moment to see if anyone else was coming, and upon determining no one was coming right away decided to finally talk, aimed towards Crow. "W-what do you want me to do?" She didn't know if anyone knew medicine to see if that would get Beck out of his trance, or if there was something that Crow knew to do in order to get the child to speak, but she sure as hell didn't know.

[beck.]

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    An obstacle situated itself in the little ghost's path. He raised his head in faux attention, yet his glossy eyes neglected to peer up into Crow's green ones. His well-worn name failed to stir any response more than a subtle twitch of his crooked nose. The name "Beck" didn't mean anything, truthfully. The identity was already lost to time, stowed away in the reaper's pocket without an epitaph for the next century to gaze upon.

    Somewhere deep within his hazed psyche, the entity recognized the vocalized string of syllables as a prompt. A question? Maybe. His useless breathing stilled as he scavenged an empty mind for the correct reaction. The tang of copper lingered in his nose and mouth -- oh, they were concerned about blood. His thoughts dragged slowly, like defeated beasts neck-deep in quicksand. If the obstacle identified his latest stain as real blood, he would never be able to get home. Beck stiffly opened his jaws, unknowingly releasing the scruff of the severed head as he merely gawked for a moment, distracted by a memorized film clip. "Corn syrup," he raspily mumbled. The infamous words of Billy Loomis were all that managed to spill past bruised lips, stolen from the silver screen. Corn syrup meant the blood plastering his front was fake; it meant there was nothing to worry about. It would persuade the obstacle into leaving.

    The young poltergeist recovered the captain's head without further explanation, movement unnatural and forced as he moved a shaky paw to sidestep past both Moth and Crow. Undoubtedly, he would not succeed in limping further forward as the moment of faint lucidity slipped from his grasp, rendering his senses too muddled to prevent those present from intervening.

    [ feel free to powerplay -- beck's catatonic and won't respond to anything anyway ]

[beatae]

the smell of a charred corpse was not exactly... ideal. mikolaj much preferred more neutral scents of the forest or moors but if someone had to just appear with a burnt decapitated head, he was not particularly keen on stopping them. that was none of his business anyway. still, he was curious.

beck was clearly a consistent troublemaker to tanglewood. poking fun at their leader, pranking a bit too harshly to everyone he saw fit. to be a permanent child seemed exhausting to the shepherd. he couldn't imagine thinking and trying that hard for a few minutes of gratitude.

today appeared no different of course. mikolaj approached with the expectation of crow berating the ghostly child for recklessness and then returning to their day. he was not expecting the hesitation in the leaders voice whatsoever. he side-eyed crow and moth before looking back to beck wordlessly. corn syrup. what a strange boy. he saw nothing wrong with the situation save for the scent of typhoon on becks body, but who was to say this was part of his prank? maybe that was the unsettling part to crow...

while he made his way past moth and crow, mikolaj took a step over moth, placing his paw directly in front of her and watching beck walk away. "do nothing." he responded gruffly to her, looking to crow.


"SPEECH"

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tags

[RED]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Christ.

It'd been a long time since Hellboy had dealt with something like this. Ghosts were not uncommon - nor was the occasional angel or demon like himself, beasts from the other world - but Beck seemed a special breed of supernatural. He was a solid being, first of all, which was out of the ordinary for a spirit. He could be mistaken for a living creature if it wasn't clear that Beck had been a child, stayed a child, for as long as he'd known him. With these concepts in mind, Red could conclude with what otherworldly knowledge he had that the child was some kind of poltergeist, maybe a low-level demon with the mean streak he carried. He could physically manifest in ways that other ghosts couldn't - which made them rather difficult to expel, and for Beck, a little harder to bring back down to Earth.

He wasn't totally there, it was clear. The blank, unknowing stare and muddled voice left Red more sympathetic than angry. He was just a child - and children made mistakes, some worse than others, some catastrophic. Beck was no different even in death. If he was ever destined to mature past his permanent age, it was not certain, but for now he was a scared child and he was, perhaps, experiencing something he wasn't ready to handle or process. Some creatures just did not understand that things died when you killed them. Some did not care. Until he could differentiate as to what category Beck fell under this was a careful and dangerous game.

Red is big, bigger than the obstacles that kept the child and his inner reaper at bay. He is intimidating, perhaps, in that he is Hell incarnate: but when he tries his best and files the stumps of his horns close he almost looks normal from a distance. That's a long way off, he knows, but his attempts to look friendlier than the other beasts from his homeland seemed to work decently thus far. He crouches a bit, a gesture he's offered to struggling individuals before because he's well aware his height tends to be an issue. His tail curls nearly around his leg and he is not another monster, but a friend.

He looks to the others, mouths silently, shhh. He isn't sure he can take care of this, but he can try.

"Hey, hey. What's that you got there?" A fucking bloody head, yeah, but he's trying to bring some sort of self-awareness to the tranced-out feline. His voice is soft even though his vocals are rough with age. A gentle hand - massive, encrusted in stone, capable of smashing through skulls but his - extends out into the distance between them, a question of whether or not Beck might metaphorically take it so he can pull him back to the ground. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you - nobody's gonna hurt you here. C'mere, kid, you're alright."

[Perseus]

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[glow=#6D6D6D,2,300]Ω —[/glow] The smell of a cauterized wound initially peaked Perseus' interest, but he threw the thought aside. As the discussion arose from afar though, the German Shepard reconsidered his ignorance. 'Who's head is that?' From the stuttering to the blunt denial, he couldn't deny that there was a conundrum occurring. The context to him was unknown. Nevertheless, something was off. Curious, the canine moved towards the scene.

Growing close, the air was still. Despite that, the smell of salt lingered, causing what was left of Perseus' vision to run red. His pace got faster. He only abruptly stopped when his front paw stepped in a pool of what was presumably the head's blood... or whatever it was. The canine continued though. Not long after, he found himself by Moth's side. Stiff and concerned, he could tell that the female was emotional. He was going to remain by her side throughout this. There was no need for a child to be dragged into this mess.

The Crow's words rang throughout his thoughts, only to be interrupted by the sudden thump of a soft object (presumably the head) hitting the floor. In response to Crow, an excuse followed. 'Corn syrup,' the monotone voice mumbled. An amused snort left the dog. "That's not syrup, my dear boy," he grimly echoed back towards Beck.

Head turning to where Crow was presumably wandering about, Perseus continued to speak. "I don't think this is inexcusable, really," he mused. "Nevertheless, that is my thoughts on the subject." There was no personal connection between Beck and him. He was only thinking logically. A catatonic man with a head in their grasp was very abnormal, but that seemed to be sympathizing with him instead.

[beatae]

the scent of the animal reached him first.

jeść.

it came closer. he could hear its heart. the sabled shepherd stilled. his muscles were stone. he no longer had any thoughts of his surroundings. moth was not underneath him, safely tucked away. beck was not holding some decapitated head. red was not here. crow was not here.

jeść.

but it was.

pupils blown out, mikolaj's eyes are purely black. it had come far too close for its own good. the brute swung its head and aimed to sink its teeth into [member=2402]Perseus[/member] 's neck. his vampiric canines extended from the hunger, the rest of his teeth shark-like in rows appearing at the gums. mikolaj's only complete thoughts focused on the pangs of his stomach and the blood he craved.

"SPEECH"

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[trojan g.]

[align=center][div style="bgcolor= black; width: 500px; font-family: georgia;font-size:12px;text-align:justify"]Looking over to those that had come after, Moth found comfort in Mikolaj stepping over her, nodding her head simply at his words that he spoke. 'Do nothing.' She could do that. It seemed to be what she usually did anywya, so she was sure that she could do that. Watching Red as he crouched down and looked towards Beck and began to speak, Moth's eyes would widen in worry as he spoke, curious as well as to what the ghost child would do, head tilting to the side as she did so, before suddenly things changed.

Perseus, a canine she had never met before was suddenly by their side, tense as he looked upon the scene with concern, and suddenly the shadow that was over Moth vanished as Mikolaj aimed for the other's neck, and her eyes would widen as a gasp left her throat. "Mikolaj!" She would speak out quickly, ears pinning to her head as she cowered where she was, scared for Beck, scared for whoever's head had been in the child's maw, as well as scared for this stranger that she didn't know suddenly sought after by the shepherd.

There was too much going on around her, and all she could do was freeze in fear.